Miracle (39 page)

"What I did to you in the chapel could hardly be termed as lovemaking," he snapped irritably.

"No?" She moved toward him. "Then what was it, Your Grace?"

"It was . . . depraved. Animal.
Criminal.
My God, I've never been driven to such a flagrant act of . . . lust."

"No? '
Tis
nice to know I have that effect on you, sir."

She ran her hand up his arm, to his shoulder, his ear, and the hair curling softly around it. He moved away, if only slightly. "This is neither the time nor the place.
Meri."

"For one who once boasted so about his prowess, you've certainly made a turnabout since coming to London."

"They were a lot of doxies and
dollymops
," he argued. "They weren't you."

"Not even a kiss?"

At last, he allowed himself to look at her again—at her mouth. "No," he said with a dry throat. "Not even that."

The days passed, and the hours, giving Miracle too much time to dwell on her circumstances, not to mention her past. Her days were filled with confusion and guilt. She missed her home. She missed Napitov and Ismail. But mostly, she missed John. Now that her emotions had sufficiently calmed and she could think more rationally, she realized why John had done what he did and said what he had. She would never have left him otherwise; her love and responsibility to him ran too deep.

Time and again, she walked to the desk secretary and thought of writing him. But what would she say? I'm sorry? I miss you? I forgive you for all the lies? I understand that you only meant to spare me pain?

Dear John, this city is overwhelming and dirty and there is no sky to see or birds to hear and I haven't seen my
fiancée
in four days, and I'm afraid I'm on the verge of becoming dreadfully unhappy. Help!

Her nights were filled with thoughts of Salterdon. His arms, hands, and lips. His body in hers. Crushing hers. She awoke several times clutching her pillow, her legs wrapped around it, hugging it, the pressure in her loins so full and miserable she hurt. Dear Lord, what had she become? What was this new curiosity about her own body? Why did the mere thought of him bring about this miserable, craving heat? Why did she wake up twisted in her sheets, her body sweating and aching so horribly that the only surcease she could find was by her own hands? Oh, but she was doomed to hell for certain now. She began to dread the black eternal nights as she dreaded the long, empty days.

Miracle spent her days doing her best to engage the help in conversation. She followed them from room to room, chatting until she was blue in the face, and rarely getting a response other than "Yes, milady. No, milady. Very good, milady." On occasion, she attempted to help them. They wouldn't have it, and told her so in no uncertain terms. "Whoever heard of a lady
beatin
' carpets?
Washin
' dishes?
Scrubbin
' floors? We'd be
findin
' ourselves on the streets if His Grace were to learn of it."

"There's hardly any danger of that," she announced loudly enough that Gertrude, Ethel, and the cook all stopped their chores and stared at her as if she were daft.

"Well," she said, "I haven't seen the cheeky beggar in four days. Obviously, he's forgotten all about me."

Cook, an overly thin Frenchman with a lisp, sniffed and replied, "His Grace is a busy man, Lady Cavendish. He has certain responsibilities."

"You're bloody right he does," she snapped back, making the man's upper lip curl. "And I'm one of them!"

It was then they suggested that she offer her services to Thaddeus, in the stables, which is where she was when her wayward
fiancé
finally called again.

"So tell me, Gertrude, how is our fair lady since I last saw her?" came the familial" voice from the foyer. Only, it wasn't familiar. Not really. There was something different about the way His Grace's words flowed in a sort of stiff monotone. Without emotion. Not that she should be surprised. With each brief and sporadic visit, the man who had so dramatically altered her life had changed: grown remote, moody, argumentative.

"
Farin
' just fine," the maidservant replied, and chuckled in the way that had won Miracle's heart completely. In truth, had it not been for Gertrude, Ethel, and Thaddeus, the last week would have seemed much worse. Gertrude's giggle reminded her of a gurgling brook, full of air and bubbles and lilting music. "She's a right ray of sunshine, Your Grace. Me and Ethel have grown right fond of her the last days. She's right intelligent and not nearly so
tetched
as we first thought when you sprung her on us."

"
Oo
, aye, Ethel
Steckal
, the upstairs maid, joined in. "I
ain't
had to pick up after her since she's been here. Right tidy, she is. Even plumps her own pillows and empties her own bath. And not once has I been forced to lug out her chamber pot—"

"Ethel!" scolded Gertrude. "
Yer
speakin
' to His Grace!"

"Well I
ain't
," Ethel said with an added "
hmph
."

Footsteps sounded down the hallway, then diminished into the parlor.

"So where is our little saint?" came the muffled query.

Miracle frowned.

"Out back in the stables. Or maybe she's still in the library
readin
'."

"Good God, whatever for?"

"Sir?"

"What is she reading?"

'Them books you
brung
her four days ago."

Silence. Then, "Never mind. Tell her I wish to see her as soon as possible."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Miracle was still standing in the dim corridor, staring at her feet and trying to reason why the mere sound of Salterdon's voice should so unnerve her (aside from infuriating her because she hadn't spoken to him in four days) when Ethel rounded the corner. The slightly built servant, whose wiry hair and pointy little nose and chin gave her the appearance of a hedgehog, jumped as she came face to face with Miracle hidden in the shadows.

"Milady," Ethel squeaked. "
Gor
, but you 'bout give me a fit of apoplexy
skulkin
' there." The girl clutched at her heart and sank against the wall for effect. "His Grace wants to see you."

Miracle raised one eyebrow. "Summoning me, is he?"

"That's right." Tugging a kerchief from her frilly apron, Ethel dabbed it to her nose and sniffed. "The sooner the better."

"Serves him right if I refuse to see him at all. After all, I've heard not a
willie's
wick from him in all these days."

Scratching her armpit, Ethel shrugged. "Best get use to it, milady, if
ya
don't mind me
sayin
'. Dukes is busy men, 'specially
durin
' the season. 'Specially this duke. There
ain't
a highborn young lady in London who wouldn't like to get her claws into him. No one's succeeded, o' course, until you. I don't mind
tellin
'
ya
, milady, the lot of
nobs
is
gonna
be fair
spittin
' when they find out he's
brung
you to London to marry. I'd watch me back if
I's
you." She winked and bestowed Miracle a wide, mostly toothless smile. "Now
ya
best be off, miss. He don't seem to be in a patient
sorta
mood. Let's see
yer
hair. Are
ya
certain
ya
won't be
pullin
' it up, maybe
addin
' a pin curl here or there?"

"He's accustomed to my hair down," she replied, patiently allowing the girl to flitter around her, fluffing her hair then stepping back to scrutinize her dress.

"Maybe I should draw up a quick bath, milady."

"I think not. He's also accustomed to seeing me dressed like a waif."

"Suit
yerself
,
luv
." With one last adjustment of Miracle's tresses, Ethel hurried from the hallway and up the stairs. Miracle watched her until the girl paused halfway up, peered down at her, and shooed her with her hands.

Still, Miracle hesitated. For the last four days she had fumed over being deposited like some empty milk pail and forgotten. But the moment Thaddeus had burst into the stable, babbling excitedly that His Grace had arrived, she'd been overcome with her usual excitement over seeing him at last. Mayhap he had a good reason for up and disappearing.

Taking a deep breath, she lightly ran down the corridor and flung open the parlor door.

Standing at the secretary, filing through a stack of correspondence, the duke looked up.

Miracle froze.

"Well, well," he said with a half-smile, and tossed down the letters. "There you are."

"Your Grace," she replied almost silently, her eyes locked on his. "I thought you had forgotten me."

"Hardly."

"After not hearing a word from you in four days—"

"Pressing business. You understand."

He moved gracefully toward her, his step slow, a curl on his lips. The gray stones that were his eyes moved at leisure down her body, to her bare feet peeking from beneath her skirt hem.

His eyebrows went up; he stopped. "What, pray tell, is that?" He pointed at her feet.

"Toes," she replied, and wiggled them.

"I was referring to the rather objectionable substance between them."

"Oh." She studied them a moment, then curled them under. "Dung," she announced quite proudly.

"Ah. I should've guessed by the smell."

Miracle clasped her hands behind her back. "I was working in the stable, helping Thad."

"Thad?"

"Your groom."

"And what were you doing with Thad in the stables?"

"Horsing around." She giggled and bit her lip, dug her toes a little harder into the floor when he only stared at her as if she were some experiment in a chemist's phial.

At last, he relaxed somewhat. "Amusing."

"I thought so."

He turned back to the room, sauntered about it with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Your mood seems contemplative, sir. Is anything wrong?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You haven't so much as offered me a hug," she told him timidly.

Leaning back against the secretary, resting his weight slightly on his hands, he said nothing for a moment. Finally, he took a deep breath, smiled, and opened his arms. "Where were my thoughts? I'm sorry, love."

Ignoring the butterflies of consternation fluttering in her stomach, she eagerly danced across the floor and melted like liquid against him. His strong arms encircled her, held her close.

"I'm sorry I've been so neglectful," he said softly near her ear, his warm breath tickling her nape, stirring awake her passion. "London has a way of exhausting every free minute. When I've settled in better, we'll go for a tour."

"You promised that four days ago," she teased in her most sultry voice, and nibbled his ear, bringing about an intake of breath, a tensing of his body. His arms closed more tightly around her.

"Kiss me," she murmured, aware of the urgency of the words. "While there's no one watching."